Listen to Act 2. LibriVox volunteers recorded “Act 2” as one track, so it runs past this scene and includes stage directions this page leaves out. LibriVox catalog.
FRIAR LAWRENCE
The grey-ey’d morn smiles on the frowning night, Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light; And fleckled darkness like a drunkard reels From forth day’s pathway, made by Titan’s fiery wheels Now, the sun advance his burning eye, The day to cheer, and night’s dank dew to dry, I must upfill this osier cage of ours With baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers. The earth that’s nature’s mother, is her tomb; What is her burying grave, that is her womb: And from her womb children of divers kind We sucking on her natural bosom find. Many for many virtues excellent, None but for some, and yet all different. O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies In plants, herbs, stones, and their true qualities. For so vile that on the earth live But to the earth some special good give; Nor so good but, strain’d from that fair use, Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse. Virtue itself turns vice being misapplied, And vice sometime’s by action dignified.
FRIAR LAWRENCE
Within the infant rind of this weak flower Poison residence, and medicine power: For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part; Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart. Two such opposed kings encamp them still In man as well as herbs,—grace and rude will; And where the worser is predominant, Full soon the canker death eats up that plant.
ROMEO
Good morrow, father.
FRIAR LAWRENCE
Benedicite! What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? Young son, it argues a distemper’d head So soon to bid good morrow to bed. Care keeps his watch in every old man’s eye, And where care lodges sleep will never lie; But where unbruised youth with unstuff’d brain couch his limbs, there golden sleep reign. Therefore earliness me assure art uprous’d with some distemperature; Or if not so, then here I hit it right, Our Romeo not been in bed tonight.
ROMEO
That last is true; the sweeter rest was mine.
FRIAR LAWRENCE
God pardon sin. Wast with Rosaline?
ROMEO
With Rosaline, my ghostly father? No. I have forgot that name, and that name’s woe.
FRIAR LAWRENCE
That’s my good son. But where been then?
ROMEO
I’ll tell ask it me again. I have been feasting with mine enemy, Where on a sudden one wounded me That’s by me wounded. Both our remedies Within help and holy physic lies. I bear no hatred, blessed man; for lo, My intercession likewise steads my foe.
FRIAR LAWRENCE
Be plain, good son, and homely in drift; Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift.
ROMEO
Then plainly know my heart’s dear love is set On the fair daughter of rich Capulet. As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine; And all combin’d, save what must combine By holy marriage. When, and where, and how We met, we woo’d, and made exchange of vow, I’ll tell as we pass; but this I pray, That consent to marry us today.
FRIAR LAWRENCE
Holy Saint Francis! What a change is here! Is Rosaline, that love so dear, So soon forsaken? Young men’s love then lies Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes. Jesu Maria, what a deal of brine wash’d sallow cheeks for Rosaline! How much salt water thrown away in waste, To season love, that of it not taste. The sun not yet sighs from heaven clears, old groans yet ring in mine ancient ears. Lo here upon cheek the stain sit Of an old tear that is not wash’d off yet. If wast thyself, and these woes , and these woes were all for Rosaline, And art chang’d? Pronounce this sentence then, Women may fall, when there’s no strength in men.
ROMEO
chidd’st me for loving Rosaline.
FRIAR LAWRENCE
For doting, not for loving, pupil mine.
ROMEO
And bad’st me bury love.
FRIAR LAWRENCE
Not in a grave To lay one in, another out to have.
ROMEO
I pray chide me not, her I love now grace for grace and love for love allow. The other did not so.
FRIAR LAWRENCE
O, she knew well love did read by rote, that could not spell. But come young waverer, come go with me, In one respect I’ll assistant be; For this alliance may so happy prove, To turn your households’ rancour to pure love.